


When We Were Young

by Mad_Mage



Series: Listen to the Man [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: "It was like a punch to the gut, seeing himself through her eyes."





	When We Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to my first solo foray into the Blacklist fandom, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. It was fun to write! Inspired by Adele's 'When We Were Young'

A young man was grinning at her from the canvas. Blue eyes, short dark hair, scruffy stubble on his cheeks; Tom’s face was a joy to paint. His features were easy on the eye and Liz liked the mischievous, boyish smile most of all. Tom in the painting was offering her a bag of gummy bears, one hand jammed in the pocket of his jeans, his glasses askew.

Liz stepped back from the canvas and observed her work thoughtfully, comparing the picture to the memory it captured. It had been said that her paintings were like photographs, so real and so full of the spontaneity of the _now_. She could just reach her hand out and take those gummy bears from him…

Life hadn’t been easy, not at all, but looking into Tom’s eyes, Liz was prepared to believe that things would get better. After the mess of her divorce, she had had troubles to make ends meet. She had been forced to let go of the house and move to her atelier, as well as sell most of her things, find a miserably paid part-time job and let Hudson live with Don and Audrey. Liz was a young and unknown artist; her works just hadn’t sold well – or at all. After the life Raymond had been able to provide, it had been hard to adjust, but she had managed. Four years after he had left and various paintings of his eyes and smiles and mannerism, Liz could finally say that she had let go of him and was ready to move on.

“Liz! Liz!” Aram shouted as he burst through the front door of her atelier, out of breath after running three sets of stairs all the way to the roof of the building.

“Jesus Christ! Aram!” Liz whirled around, startled, and knocked over a can of blue paint.

“Sorry! Oh, I’m so sorry!” Aram froze momentarily, then he closed the door and came bounding towards her with all the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy. “I’ll knock next time, I swear.”

“Sure, sure,” Liz said, nodding with a small smile. He always said that but forgot to knock every single time. “So, what’s going on?”

Distracted, Aram was gaping at the canvas Tom, tilting his head from side to side. “Hmm?”

“Aram. Why have you exploded through my door just now? Was there a reason?”

“Oh! Of course! You better sit down, because I’ve just gotten off the phone with Harold Cooper himself. That Mr. Cooper… and… he said he would be delighted to have _When We Were Young_ on display in his gallery! This autumn! Is this the final one, Liz?”

“Yes, but… Have you just said Harold Cooper?” Tom was the final one in the series of paintings Liz had spent the last three years working on. She blinked once, twice, and then her face split into a dumbfounded smile. “No way!”

“It’s true! Liz, do you know what that means?”

“Oh my God. Oh, God! Aram, you know what that means, right?” They both yelled at the same time and started jumping around in the paint, hugging each other, laughing and dancing and laughing again. Blue splashed the canvas of Tom, but Liz hardly paid attention to that, her arms full of her best friend and mind focused on the single fact that her work was going to be displayed in the most prestigious modern art gallery in London.

-.-.-

A finely dressed man wandered into the gallery one day. _When We Were Young_ had been on display for several weeks now, but by the number of people visiting the exhibition, it looked like the public just couldn’t get enough of the paintings. It had been an instant hit. The artist had gone from nobody to celebrity overnight, giving interviews on the radio and TV, praised in the newspapers. All the fuss had ultimately caught his attention, and after long consideration, he had flown to London. He disliked second-hand things, and photos of the real deal just didn’t cut it. He had to see for himself.

The first painting was titled _On First Sight_. The breath left his body as he gazed at it, his fedora crumpled in his fists, face a mask of stone. In front of him, there was a large canvas portraying a Navy man. He was casually leaning against a doorframe, without his uniform jacket and with the first few buttons of the shirt undone while his sleeves were rolled up. His eyes were trained at the audience as if he could see straight through them, lips turned up into a slight smirk, the cap tilted to one side. It had been painted in bold strokes, and vibrant colors and the sailor looked ready to step out of the canvas and say something outrageously indecent.

It was like a punch to the gut, seeing himself through her eyes.

-.-.-

Liz gasped when she had seen the outline of his head, the set of his shoulders, the damned three-piece suit and the stupid fedora on the bench next to him. She never had in a million years expected him to be there. Liz didn’t want him there, observing her work and reading the commentary under each painting. It was hardly private seeing that she had shared it with the rest of the world, but Red was the last person on Earth she wanted to catch a glimpse into her mind like that. However, she couldn’t stop cataloging the scene – the way light framed his body, how tense he seemed. The calm he projected was only a pretense. She should know, seeing how many times she had been on the receiving end of his fiery temper.

He still looked like a movie. Not a dashing officer who would sweep women of their feet anymore but a distinguished gentleman from black and white film.

Liz considered just turning around and leaving, but her feet carried her closer and closer to him without her realizing she had moved at all.

“Raymond? What are you doing here?”

He slowly turned to her and Liz cursed his habit of wearing colored sunglasses. Her pale and anxious face reflected back at her in the lenses. Raymond’s jaw worked for a moment, and then he finally rumbled, “Hello, Lizzie.”

Damn him, he still sounded like a song, that deep voice, and its gravelly quality. Like old gramophone records her Dad had used to listen to when Liz had been a kid. It reminded her of when they had been young… well, younger in any case.

The silence between them stretched, becoming painfully unpleasant. He was probably staring at her, at least Liz thought he was. His face was angled towards her anyway, and she felt thrown back in time to those months leading up to their divorce; how restless they’d been, uncomfortable with each other, all those stilted conversations and distant eyes.

“I thought you have moved back to the States, Red.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and reached with his hand to remove the glasses. His eyes were as stormy as she remembered them, but something nagged at the back of her mind as she looked into them. It had always been hard to decide if they were blue or grey or green. She supposed the color shifted according to her ex-husband's mood. Now his scrutinizing gaze reminded her of the blue waters of the lake they had often visited together. He had a summer house there, close to the bank. “I’m just visiting. Heard of your success and just thought I’d take a look myself.”

Liz forced a little smile to appear on her face and turned to look at the painting. It showed Ressler in waders in the middle. Don was grinning from ear to ear as he was fighting with his big catch, gripping the fishing pole with all his might. Red was smirking in the background, casually smoking a cigar and cheering for the fish while he chatted with Aram who looked like he was trying to tune out the whole scene so he could concentrate better on what Raymond was saying. She remembered that afternoon vividly; it had been one of the early days when Red had tried to be pleasant to her friends. They had come back to the house dripping wet, all three of them, joking and sneezing. At that time, Liz had believed that Ray had been like a dream come true. She had been quite stupid at that age.

“I remember that day. Mojtabai fell into the lake. Honestly, I’ve never met anyone more accident prone than that friend of yours, Elizabeth. And when Ressler went to help him out, do you remember it? He slipped and hit his head. Oh my! Quite colorful vocabulary that one has! I ended up pulling them both out of the water,” he said, chuckling. “How is dear Aram anyway? Are you two still as chummy as before?”

Red really liked to hear the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? Liz shook her head, chancing a glance at him. He was different than she remembered him. There was more silver in what was left of his hair, and he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping properly. Seeing him here and now, she couldn’t stop herself and searched for traces of someone she had used to know in this older, heavier version of the man she had loved once. The most startling was the ever-present weariness in his eyes.

“We’re good,” she said and fidgeted nervously. What had possessed her to come and talk to him? Seeing Raymond was more bitter than sweet and having him sit among the memories of their life put to canvas for the whole world to see made her awkwardly aware of the fact that she had loved him and for Red, it just hadn’t been enough. “I’m sorry, but I need to go. It was good seeing you, thanks for coming to see the exhibition.”

“It was my pleasure, Lizzie.”

Red focused his gaze back to her face, and she felt suddenly trapped by the depth of emotion she found there. He hesitated, his eyes darkening, and swallowed. “I know you’re probably busy, but I was hoping to have a moment before I fly back. More private moment than this. What do you say?”

Liz glanced around to see if someone would save her. She knew that Aram was somewhere in the building, and Don and Audrey were coming around 5 pm so they all could go out for dinner. Tom had been here to say hi in the morning…

“Lizzie.” Red reached out and touched her hand, just a brief brush of his fingers against her skin. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Red smiled up at her and rose to his feet, elegant as ever. She noticed how he caught the attention of the people around them. He had always had the effect, there was something in the way he moved and talked that was captivating, forced everybody to glance in his direction for a second or two.

Bringing her hand to his mouth, his lips just hovered over her knuckles for a moment, and she felt him exhale. Everything faded into the background – the visitors, their voices, all the noise. There was just him, in that soft light with those shadows beneath his eyes, his touch, and the smell of his cologne in the air between them. She was glad that his eyes were averted and he didn’t see the way she stared at him. Damn him, the bastard. She could hardly breathe as she stood there, observing the curve of his head.

Then he dropped her hand suddenly, stepping back. The spell broke, and Liz shook herself from her thoughts about colors and brushes and perfect moments, which were so rare and fleeting.

“Aren’t you needed somewhere, my dear?” he asked. His tone was curt and face turned away as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at her anymore. That was familiar, too – a defense mechanism she had been well aware of. He just couldn’t bear to look at her for whatever reason, and Liz realized with a start that she had managed to hurt him somehow.

“I… You can come to my atelier tomorrow morning if you’d like. I would have invited you to have dinner with me, but I’ve already made plans…”

Red whirled around sharply, and she blinked at the expression on his face. It almost resembled fury, but she couldn’t be certain. It was gone quickly. He nodded once, the muscle in his left cheek twitched, and then Red said with a pained smile, “I’ll be there.”

-.-.-

Early in the morning the next day, the same finely dressed man appeared in the gallery for what he swore would be the last time. He leisurely walked from one painting to the other, taking his time with each one as had been his custom in the previous nine days. _When We Were Young_ had caught the attention of the whole world, but he seemed to be more enchanted than anyone else had been. He would sit at his favorites for long minutes, read the commentary the artist provided, and then move to the next canvas as if in a slight daze.

He spent the longest observing two pictures. _Dreams Come True_ was his absolute favorite and this morning, he sat in front of it for good half an hour. It was painted in soft light colors, gentle and heartwarming. The way the white dress just flew around the bride, contrasting with the deep hues of her dark hair. The way the groom laughed with his head thrown back as he twirled her around. The bright red tie, a private joke between them. The second one, _All Things End_ , was very different; the setting was dark, colors subdued, it was raining. The man with his back turned wasn’t more than a shadowy figure against grey skies as he made his way toward a car with the last of his things in the bag flung over his shoulder. In the foreground, a woman cradled their small dog in her arms, watching her soon to be ex-husband leave her.

As he was sitting in front of this one, he buried his face in his hands, stinging eyes tightly shut, and fought for composure. Long minutes passed until he rose to his feet and left the gallery quickly. He spared only a brief glance at the last painting in the series titled _A New Leaf_ , which showed a bespectacled young man with an easy smile and a bag of gummy bears.

His fists clenched and he quickened his pace. There were places to be, things to do.

-.-.-

Liz was starting to hope that Red wouldn’t show but at half-past eleven, there was a knock on the front door. She startled, taking a step back from her work. It was the scene from the gallery from the day before – or at least, it would be in time. She quickly threw a large piece of cloth over the easel to shield the painting, trying to take calming breaths. The last thing she needed was Red knowing he was once again a part of her pictures.

“Come in!” she yelled, wiping the paint from her hands.

“Lizzie, is this a bad time?” Red stuck his head inside first, his hat still on, the sunglasses thankfully off. He squinted in the bright light of the morning and pushed the rest of his body through the door. “Oh my, this place looks still the same.”

“Come in, I've finished for now anyway.” Liz bristled at the dismissive tone of his voice she knew so well. He was in a confrontational mood, then. Only Red could make her go from panicky to annoyed in a matter of seconds. “Would you like something to drink?”

He was busy looking around, his eyes straying more than once to the back of the atelier where he spied her improvised kitchenette, a sofa, and a small second-hand wardrobe. It was clear from the look on his face that he highly disapproved of what he saw. “Don’t tell me you spend nights here when the time gets away from you… That couch looks mighty uncomfortable.”

The gall of that man! “I live here, Red, so can you at least look like my home is not offending you?”

“I know you like this place but living here?” He blinked and took off his hat, simply staring at her with an appalled expression. “You can’t be serious, Elizabeth.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Liz crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at him challengingly. His clothes cost more than all the furniture in her atelier combined. Hell, his fedora alone probably did. He just raised his eyebrow at her, waiting in silence. Liz was the first to turn away. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“What? Won’t you invite me to sit?”

“By all means, do sit on the couch you think is uncomfortable.”

Red huffed, took off his coat and went to sit on the couch. “Honestly, Elizabeth, if that’s the way you treat all your guests, then I’m shocked you still have any f-”

“Was there a fucking reason why you wanted to see me in private, Raymond? If you came here only to pick a fight, you can just don that stupid hat and be on your merry way back to Washington.”

Red took a deep breath, chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment and then exhaled as he rubbed at his face, his shoulders slumping. Liz moved cautiously closer, noticing that he looked exhausted and that his eyes were red-rimmed either from a sleepless night or too much to drink. Knowing that Raymond always disliked the loss of control, she knew he had had a bad night.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Orange juice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Liz busied herself with pouring two tall glasses of orange juice and sat next to him, leaving some space between them. Her mind kept wondering what had brought Red to her doorstep. They hadn’t had any contact in the last four years. The divorce had taken only a short time to finalize – Liz hadn’t wanted anything from him and signed the papers as soon as she had realized that he hadn’t loved her anymore. After that, Red had moved back to the States, and she had been on her own.

They sipped their drinks slowly, both lost in their thoughts.

“Don’t you think the paintings are a bit _personal_ to have them displayed for all those people to see?” he finally asked, glancing at her.

She put her glass down slowly. “What’s so personal about them, Red?”

“Seriously? What about the fact that they all show our private life together? Didn’t it occur to you that I might disagree with it?”

“Curious. People love the fact that all of it was real, that’s what has them so enraptured with my work. But I still don’t see why you are bothered. It’s the twenty-first century, and it’s not like any of the pictures are from the bedroom. Artists universally put big parts of themselves into their work. It’s nothing unusual…”

“For fuck’s sake! It all maps out our entire relationship! I don’t like that people come and gawk at pictures of our wedding, the trips, the fights… how it ended.” He was breathing hard at the end of the tirade and took a sip from his glass, glaring at the battered coffee table in front of him.

Liz observed him for a moment, trying to calm her own emotions. She had always hated when they fought over nothing and this? This was nothing. Both of them knew that he didn’t have any right to come to her and complain about her work.

“What this is really about, Raymond?” she asked quietly and debated whether or not to take his hand in hers. She settled for patting his shoulder instead. Sitting here next to him, it was all so familiar, and these reactions were so natural.

Red was silent for a long time, just staring at nothing in particular, some spot on the floor. Finally, he opened his mouth, worked his jaw for a moment and then he softly said, “When I saw the photos of your work, I just had to see for myself, so I flew here determined to visit the gallery and be back in Washington by the next day. Then I saw the pictures and I just couldn’t… It was impossible to not come back again and again. I would come and sit in the gallery for hours, just staring at the paintings. Seeing myself through your eyes, our life from your perspective…”

Liz was aware that his hand had gripped hers while he had been talking. In their happier days, they gravitated towards each other with breathtaking ease. Lending strength and support to the other had always had been subconscious on his part and instinct on hers. Now, Red was squeezing her fingers almost painfully, head bowed, while his other hand was fisted on his knee.

“It was like I could revisit those times, come back to those blissfully happy moments. Like I could feel your love, just for a little while and I needed that. Those paintings made me foolishly think that…” he cleared his throat, voice hoarse. “It looked like you still cared, like it’s not really gone.”

Oh, Raymond. Liz closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. She had only seldom seen him so open, so vulnerable. Navy men were supposed to be tough, and her ex-husband had made an officer before he had retired to expand family fortune. She wondered if that had been the death of their marriage. Before that, money hadn’t really mattered, but after he had taken over his father’s business, money had been suddenly the only thing that mattered.

“Do you?” Liz whispered gently. The realization that he might be enough to send her mind reeling. It was unthinkable. He had said…

“I never stopped.”

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at Red in disbelief. He gave a small, rueful smile and a nod. Swallowing, he cradled her cheek in his free hand, his thumb wiping away the tear that had escaped from her eye.

“I don’t… but why would you leave if… I don’t understand, Ray. We had been happy. Why did you just give up and leave?”

“Well.” Red chuckled bitterly. “I was getting old and the idea of you leaving me for someone younger was… persistent. I was mad with worry and one day it just made sense to beat you to it and bury those fears deep down where nobody would ever find them… And I was right in a way, wasn’t I?”

Red dropped his hand and turned his face away from her, but not before Liz noticed the wetness in his eyes. In a rough voice, he continued. “He looks nice, the gummy bears guy, the new leaf. If you think that the boy is that for you, it’s… good. You deserve the world.”

Gummy bears guy? Liz closed her eyes, picturing Tom’s boyish smile and his easy “Hey, Babe!” He was so easy on the eye, handsome and sweet and there could be something more between them, something wonderful, a whole future full of talks about mixing paint and school trips with fourth years into a zoo. She could see herself painting scenes from their life, all the happy birthday parties, stepping into a dog pee, Sunday pancakes making…

The couch creaked as Red was getting up and Liz focused back on the present and the shuttered, completely destroyed look in his eyes. Without thinking, she reached for his hand, tugging him back to sit next to her. “Wait a moment, Ray. You can’t just drop all of that on me and then hop on your jet and disappear.”

“Can’t I?” he asked flippantly, but a scared look entered his eyes. He was silently begging her to let it go.

“I used to be your wife. If you think you have still the right to come here and criticize me for what I decide to paint, then I have the right to give you piece of my mind for being stupid… because, Raymond, what you have done to us was probably the stupidest thing in the history of stupidity.”

“I don’t really need you to tell me that, I’m perfectly aware of it myself.” He was getting annoyed, blinking furiously, jaw firmly set. Good, because Liz was irritated, too.

“Yeah, and you didn’t learn from it one bit. You are determined to do the second most stupid thing in the history of stupidity!” she yelled at Red and punched his shoulder; the one where he had been shot years ago, the exact same spot.

Red gaped at her, but Liz was not done.

“I think I could love Tom in time, that we could be insanely happy together, start a family, have a dog, and all that happy ending stuff girls dream about. Yes. But… I don’t think that… After this, Raymond? What you’ve just told me? I’m not over it, over you. I thought I was, I hoped I was – and wished for it – but after seeing you and listening to you… I know I’m not. We’re not over, and until we are, there isn’t a way for me to move on with anybody else.”

Her heart was hammering in her chest as if she had just run a marathon and she stared at the top of his bowed head. Red had crumpled upon himself on her sofa, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands and terrible choking sounds were forming at the back of his throat.

“Raymond? Honey, talk to me, please.” Tentatively, Liz wrapped her arms around him. After a moment, she felt him return the hug, holding her close to his body with a heartbreaking sigh.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry for everything.” She heard the tears in his voice, and Red’s breath was tickling her neck, but Liz snuggled even closer. His arms around her felt like home, and she had missed that feeling for so long, since he had walked out of their house all those years ago.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” she promised him, felt his body shudder one last time, could pinpoint the exact moment he had his emotions back under control. That was her Red, always in charge of everything around him – himself most of all.

“Will that include cuddling?” The question came out muffled because he started to nuzzle her neck now. “Cuddling is good. I missed it.”

“Most probably.” She had missed it, too.

“And date nights?” His voice sounded stronger, reminding her of that sassy Navy officer she had met more than ten years ago.

“Yeah…” Liz closed her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder, smiling slightly. Just from the tone he had used, she could expect something impertinent coming out of his mouth any second.

“And your hair clogging the drain in the shower?”

“Raymond!”

“It was just a question, Lizzie… I like when your hair clogs the drain. It means you are with me, wherever I happen to be.”

“Yes, that, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think? I’m a bit nervous about tackling a whole new fandom and told myself: ‘Mad, before you work on Friendly’s other stories, you should do your own Blacklist work first.’ And here we are. Have to say I feel good about this one, though. When I heard the song, surprisingly I didn’t think of my usual Rey/Luke but Red/Lizzie (anyone notices the same initials?). They fitted Adele’s melancholy better. Hope you don’t mind the happy ending, I’m incapable of denying that to any of the characters unless they are Kylo Ren and Tom Keen. Let me know what you think, I love to chat with you guys!


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